What a fool honesty is.

Not all the water in the rough rude sea Can wash the balm from an anointed King.

A man can die but once.

His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come. And let my liver rather heat with wine, than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Happy thou art not; for what thou hast not, still thou strivest to get; and what thou hast, forgettest.

Never; he will not: Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale Her infinite variety: other women cloy The appetites they feed: but she makes hungry Where most she satisfies.